When night fell, and the shadows of the trees were merged in uniform gloom, the mysterious vitality of the forest knew no rest. The branches snapped and cracked, the dry leaves rustled hither and thither among the gra.s.s and in the underwood. Then Johannes felt the touch of invisible wings and was aware of the presence of invisible beings. He could plainly hear the murmur of little voices and tripping of little feet.
There! there in the darkest depth of the thicket, a tiny blue spark glowed and vanished. There was another and another!--Hark! When he listened attentively he could hear a rustling in the leaf-strewn floor near him, close to the black tree-trunk. The blue lights again were visible and then stood still on the top.
Now Johannes saw such lights all about him; they flitted among the brown leaves, dancing along with airy leaping; and in one place a large sparkling ma.s.s beamed like a blue bonfire.
"What fire is that?" asked Johannes. "It burns splendidly."
"That is a rotten tree-stump," replied Windekind.
They went towards a bright light which remained steady.
"Now I will introduce you to Wistik.[1] He is the oldest and wisest of the Wood-Sprites.
As they approached Johannes saw him sitting by his candle. The wrinkled little face with its grey beard could be plainly seen by the blue light; he was reading diligently with knitted brows. On his head he wore an acorn-cup with a tiny feather in it. Before him sat a wood-spider listening to his reading.
When the pair went near him, the little boguey, without raising his head, looked up from his book and lifted his eyebrows.
The spider crept away.
"Good-evening," said he. "I am Wistik. Who are you?"
"My name is Johannes. I should like to make acquaintance with you. What are you reading?"
"It is not meant for your ears," said Wistik. "It is only for wood-spiders."
"Just let me once look at it, dear Wistik," begged Johannes.
"I cannot. This is the sacred book of the spiders, and is in my charge.
I may not let it out of my own hands. I have the keeping of the sacred books of the snails, and the b.u.t.terflies, and the hedge-hogs, and the moles, and all the creatures that live here. They cannot all read, and when they want to know anything I read it to them. This is a great honour for me, a post of trust, you understand."
The sprite nodded very gravely several times, and pointed with his tiny forefinger.
"And what were you studying just now?"
"The history of Kribbelgauw, the great hero among spiders, who lived very long ago and had a net which spread over three trees, and in which he caught millions of flies every day. Before the time of Kribbelgauw spiders made no nets, but lived on gra.s.s and dead creatures; but Kribbelgauw was a very clever fellow, and proved that all living insects were created on purpose for food for spiders. Then, by the most laborious calculation, Kribbelgauw discovered the art of making nets, for he was very learned. And to this day the wood-spiders make their nets exactly as he taught them, thread for thread, only much smaller.
For the spider race is greatly degenerate. Kribbelgauw caught great birds in his net, and murdered thousands of his own children--he was something like a spider! At last there came a great storm and carried away Kribbelgauw and his net, with the three trees it was made fast to, through the air to a distant wood, where he is now perpetually honoured for his great achievements and sagacity."
"Is that all true?" asked Johannes.
"It is all in this book," said Wistik.
"Do you believe it?"
The boguey shut one eye and laid his forefinger to his nose.
"The sacred books of other creatures, when they mention Kribbelgauw, speak of him as a hateful and contemptible monster. But that is no concern of mine."
"And is there a Sprites" Book, Wistik?"
Wistik looked at Johannes rather suspiciously.
"What sort of creature are you really, Johannes? There is something--just something--human about you, so to speak."
"No, no; be easy, Wistik," said Windekind, "we are elves. But formerly Johannes saw a good deal of men and their doings. You may trust him entirely. It can do him no harm."
"Ay, ay, well and good. But I am called the wisest of the sprites--and I studied long and hard before I knew what I know. So now I must be cautious with my learning. If I tell you too much, I shall lose my reputation."
"But in what book do you think that the truth is to be found?"
"I have read a great deal, but I do not believe that I have ever read that book. It is not the Elves" Book nor the Sprites". Yet it must exist."
"The Men"s Book perhaps?"
"That I do not know, but I do not think it. For the True Book must bring with it great peace and great happiness. In it there must be an exact explanation of why everything is as it is, so that no one need ever ask or inquire any more. Now men, I believe, have not got so far as that."
"Oh dear, no!" said Windekind, laughing.
"Is there anywhere such a book?" said Johannes eagerly.
"Yes, yes," whispered the sprite. "I know there is, from very ancient legends. And--hush!--I know where it is, and who can find it."
"Oh, Wistik! Wistik!"
"Why then have you not yet got it?" asked Windekind.
"Patience, patience,--it will be found. I know as yet no particulars,--but I shall soon find it. I have toiled for it and sought it all my life. For to him who finds it life shall be one perpetual autumn day--blue air above and blue mists all round,--only no falling leaves shall rustle, no twigs shall snap, no raindrops patter, the shadows shall not change, the sun-gold on the tree-tops shall not fade.
What seems to us now to be light shall be darkness; what seems to us now to be joy shall be woe by comparison, to those who read that book! Ay! I know this much, and some day I shall find it."
The Wood-Sprite raised his eyebrows very much and laid his finger on his lips.
"Wistik, if you could but teach me----" Johannes began; but before he could say more he felt a strong gust of wind and saw a great, broad black shroud overhead, which silently and swiftly swept by. When he looked for Wistik again he saw one little foot just vanishing into the hollow tree. Whisk! the sprite had leapt into his cave, book and all.
The candles burnt paler and paler and suddenly went out. Those were very strange little candles.
"What was that?" asked Johannes, clinging in terror to Windekind in the darkness.
"An owl," said Windekind. Then they were both silent for some time.
Presently Johannes said:--
"Do you believe what Wistik said?"
"Wistik is not so wise as he thinks himself. He will never find such a book, nor you either."
"But does it exist?"
"It exists, as your shadow exists, Johannes. However fast you run, however cautiously you seize it, you can never overtake it or hold it.
And at last you discover that you are trying to catch yourself. Do not be foolish; forget the sprite"s chatter. I can tell you a hundred finer tales. Come along! We will go to the outskirts of the wood and see how our good father draws off the white woollen coverlets of dew from the sleeping meadows. Come."
Johannes went; but he did not understand Windekind"s words, nor did he follow his counsel. And while he watched the dawn of the glorious autumn morning, he was meditating over the book in which it is written why everything is as it is, and repeating to himself in a low tone, "Wistik!"